


Consumed

by Heroine_Lestrange



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, F/F, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Unless you're Eve, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-21 07:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30018429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heroine_Lestrange/pseuds/Heroine_Lestrange
Summary: AU. Anna spirals into darkness after news of Oksana's death in prison. Anna-centric story.
Relationships: Anna Leonova/Villanelle | Oksana Astankova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 9





	1. Red

**Author's Note:**

> Violence and all round bad vibes. No underage, but it is referred to as is canon compliant for the pairing.

The blood stain in her bedroom was pulsating again. Slithering further from its home at the base of the bed, stretching outwards in an attempt to scale the walls. Its repetitive thumping growing in her ears, reverberating in her bones. It never ceased, not for a second. Anna longed for the quiet peace of before, no matter how dull and lifeless it had left her.

It was inevitable that the blood would eventually consume the room, bathe it in crimson and iron, maybe if she was lucky it would also devour the hollow inside of her.

The thumping did not creep up on her slowly, instead it entered her life much like Oksana had. It was sudden and brash, and it had very little consideration for her sanity. _Thump, thump,_ she couldn’t sleep. _Thump, thump,_ she couldn’t eat. _Thump, thump_ , she couldn’t think. She wishes she could split open her head and scrub the inside of her mind clean, use her nails to scratch out the unvarying sound. _Thump, thump._

A man arrived at her door, heavy set and bearded, only a month after Oksana had left….been taken…..left. “There has been an incident at the prison, Oksana did not make it………” There were more words, she could see his mouth move. She only heard static, her mind inflamed as the dripping crimson began clawing behind her eyes. And then ……. _thump, thump_.

After Maxi died there had been an overwhelming impression of nothingness, the silence stretched on until Oksana had filled it with her love. Her love that was too much, too intense, too dependent. Now Anna feels too much, too intensely, too dependent on the younger brunette and Oksana is the one who feels nothing. Oksana who is enclosed wholly by dirt and death.

_Thump, Thump……._

Anna had tried to rid her floors of Maxi’s blood but it clung on, sinking deeper into the wood with her every attempt. She had scrubbed at it with a steel brush and a bucket of bleach until her hands were left raw and bloody. Her own blood dripping to meet that below it, the spot grew. The stain was now partially covered by an antique rug that Maxi would have hated, had he been alive to see it.

_Thump, Thump………_

A month after Maxi’s death she had yet to shed a single tear for the man who had once been her husband. A week after Oksana’s death she had been depleted of all her tears, she had none left to shed.

Her hands were raw from scrubbing and her nails bitten down until bloody and wounded. The anxiety built every day she went without Oksana’s presence, however distant it had been near the end. The blood was a constant reminder of what she had lost. Who she had lost. Oksana, not Maxi, never Maxi.

_Thump, thump……_

Maxi was not a good man. Maxi was not a bad man. Maxi was an ordinary man. Anna had loved him as much as she could. Maxi liked ham sandwiches, classic jazz and the mountains. Maxi disliked the color yellow, whiskey and Tuesdays. She had loved him, but never enough. He had loved her, but always too much.

Oksana was not a good woman. Oksana was not a bad woman. Oksana was barely a woman at all. Anna had loved her more than she should have. Oksana liked french pastries, national anthems and the river. Oksana disliked children, damaged books and Russian films. Anna had loved her, always too much. Oksana had loved her, always enough.

_Thump, thump……._

Her work was being neglected, the polite warning left unanswered on the answering machine said as much. It would remain unanswered, there was no reason to return to the place where she had once found happiness, where she had once found Oksana. The school would have no struggle replacing her, and she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

_Thump, thump….._

The drinking helped, the bitter alcohol she constantly consumed assisted in dulling the sharpness of all the reminders she had surrounded herself with. The books, the clothes, the chair…… all reminders of _her_.

Her friends and family did not understand, they thought her a victim of an overzealous student. They placated her with empty platitudes of how it wasn’t her fault, that a mentally unstable girl had merely misconstrued her kind nature. They called her a victim. Victim, victim, victim, over and over again. Anna no longer speaks to them, she prefers the silence of her self imposed isolation. Enjoys the company of her memories and her bottles, until they both run as empty as she herself has become.

_Thump, thump…….._

The alcohol induced haze only helps for so long, the come down is always a harsh reminder of the constant vacancy she feels. Her simple existence from before, now little but a hollow pretense. The opening is impossible to fill but she has to try, Oksana would want her to try.

The thumping always starts again, louder without the dampening of her trusty bottles. So loud……won’t stop.

_Thump, thump….._

It gets worse, the thumping is no longer unaccompanied. Voices have joined the symphony and the sound is crushing. The weight in her head stifles everything else. Anna sees the blood spot grow, sees it unfurl and slink higher and higher up the walls.

Red, so much red. Oksana loved red..... or maybe she didn’t.

The voices like it, want her to curl up inside it, be eaten alive by it. Could she? She wants to give in. No. Yes. The noise has reached a crescendo, a choice must be made.

_Thump, thump……_

Anna slips on a beautiful black dress, once gifted to her by Oksana. The material silky and expensive to the touch. Dark and beautiful. The single suitcase stood by the doorway holds only the bare minimum, a handful of mementos and not much else. She turns toward the bedroom and shifts the rug away with the slide of her shoe. The stain is still crimson, still pulsating, still attempting to consume her. To move forward she must dispose of the disease clinging to her, endeavoring to destroy her. She moves into the kitchen, grabbing one of her trusty crystalline bottles along with Maxi’s steel lighter as she does so. Anna pours the clear liquid throughout the small apartment as she makes her way back into the bedroom, emptying the remaining liquid onto the red stain.

_Thump, thump……._

Without a seconds hesitation, she flicks open the lighter and allows the liquid to be consumed by the growing flame. The small spark quickly turning itself into a boiling inferno. The voices are screaming, painful wailing devours her mind. The thumping becomes louder, drowning out even the voices before finally, it snaps.

_Empty._

_Nothing._

_Silence._

Anna lifts her suitcase and without glancing backwards, she leaves the disease to burn.


	2. Grey

The documents that brought to life one Anna Astankova, had been easier to procure than expected. A simple phone call to a resourceful former student and a small sum of money later, she had been presented with a whole new identity. Finally shedding her old life, laying it to rest alongside the reminders of an existence wasted. Alongside death. Alongside Maxi. Alongside Oksana.

When she arrived, Germany was bleak and sunless. Much like Russia, the dour mood enveloped its surroundings. Enveloped her. The mist consuming all those who dared move too close. The unwavering grey of her surroundings comforted Anna. It was soothing, being so far removed from the crimson which had plagued her in the weeks following Oskana’s death. 

The city was similar to Moscow in many ways, its multitude of residents crashing through the streets. Restless and loud. Blurry figures huddled in coats, heading in every direction. More diverse than Russia, yet somehow just as inaccessible. 

The influx of new languages buzzes, it hums lowly at the base of Anna’s skull. New words to discern, the perfect distraction. Sentences for her to tear apart and patch back together.

_German._

_English._

_Polish._

_Japanese._

Stringing new words together, over and over until they once again made sense. Working as a translator was easy, her past was never brought into question. They only cared for her competency and little else.

Anna’s new apartment was situated in a chic neighborhood, frequented by warm cafes and tiny boutiques. The apartment itself was sparse in its minimalism, the white washed walls offset by the dark furniture that filled up the small space. Her own personal touches were limited to the bedroom. A picture of Oksana and a thin book of French poetry were kept within reach of her bed. The wooden box containing Oksana’s love letters was hidden away in the dark space where the wardrobe met the wall. Personal, not shameful. Never shameful.

Her apartment block in Russia was now nothing more than kindling. The news reported it is as an ‘unexplained tragedy’. Anna had watched the building go up in smoke and flames, felt the chaos, heard the screams. For a moment she had felt intact, the notion didn’t last but the idea had lingered on. Pain, she had so much pain. Making others feel that same pain had caused a small scratch of emotion to blossom in her chest.

Observing the destruction caused by her own hand had resulted in a sick pleasure to fill up in her chest. The tips of her fingers prickled at the mere thought. It was not quite excitement but it had made her feel alive. Alive. The roll of her stomach and blur in her vision weren't always pleasant but it was better than the alternative, the nothingness. 

47 people had been lost to the tempestuous fire. The list of the deceased was released the following week.

_Number 35, Anna Leonova._

Anna Leonova spoke Russian, German, French and English. She liked comfortable clothing in muted colors, with a preference for patterns. She was kind but often overlooked. Unassuming and modest. She loved gentle men, reading and baking. She lived to teach and enjoyed a simple but humble existence, never expecting or demanding anything more.

_Apartment 107, Anna Astankova._

Anna Astankova spoke Russian, German, French and English. She liked expensive clothing in dark colors, the type to draw attention to her figure. She was confident and tended to draw attention to herself. Self-assured and poised. She loved complicated women, reading and vintage fashion. She lived to learn how to fill the vacancy within, always demanding more.

Natalie was the first woman to fully capture Anna’s attention since Oksana. She was a permanent fixture at the family cafe Anna frequented, always tucked away reading in a small alcove away from the other patrons. Petite with cascading waves of golden hair, she would have been Oksana’s polar opposite had it not been for her eyes. The same shape and shade, and in the correct light Anna could even allow herself to believe that they gleamed with the same mischievous glint.

Anna echoed a script of hollow sentiments to the blonde. “You are special. You deserve to be loved. I could love you.” Natalie craved the validation, lusted for the whirlwind romance. It was all too easy to ensnare the younger woman, convince her that she loved Anna. That her love could be returned. When the words “Would you like to come over to my place?" were finally uttered by a flustered Natalie, Anna had known that all of her empty words had been triumphant. 

Oksana had also liked pretty phrases, spoken in hushed tones. She preferred when they were uttered in French, boldly declaring her love in front of people who were not able to comprehend the words. Anna would not repeat those sentiments to another, they were meant for Oksana and Oksana only. 

Natalie lived in a small apartment nearby the local university. Her compact living space was littered with textbooks and trinkets, sentimental clutter. Anna could relate, she had held onto her own reminders. Her mementos of Oksana and her previous life, neatly packed in the wooden box. The only things preserved from her life in Russia.

The sex was drawn-out and tender. Not fulfilling in the least. Anna put up with the tedious act for completions sake. Natalie was a romantic, she wanted to feel adored and cared for in the arms of her lover. Oksana had been demanding and desperate, had clawed her way through sex. Anna usually had chunks of skin, crescent shaped, missing from her back after sex with Oksana. The only marks left by Natalie were the ruby lipstick stains on the base of Anna’s neck. 

The lack of pain was startling. Uncomfortable. Wrong. 

The younger woman was a heavy sleeper, clearly spent by their earlier activities. Anna’s head was buzzing, she needed a release. It was building inside her, the scratching started in her chest. The prickling in her fingertips. It was encouraging her, guiding her. She left the bed and made her way into the small kitchenette, water would help clear her head. The water soothed her throat but the scratching continued. It was overwhelming.

The wooden knife block stood securely next to the sink. The gleaming steel handles call out to her. Hot so hot, filling her chest. Burning. 

_First, second, third, fourth……..fourth._

She pulled the fourth knife from its position, it was sharpened to perfection. It had clearly never been dulled with use, it was exquisite. The prickling sensation slithered up her arm.

Returning to the bedroom, she watched as the pretty blonde slept.

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

_Inhale._

_Exhale._

Anna straddled Natalie carefully, making sure not to wake the other woman. Running the knife softly along the blondes pale flesh, she watches as thin red scratches begin to appear in its wake. This felt right. This felt good. She had to know if she _would_ feel more. If she _could_ feel more.

Anna gripped the handle of the knife with both of her hands before raising it steadily. She arched downwards, impaling the steel into the soft flesh below it. Natalie’s eyes snapped open as she gasped painfully.

The girl sputtered, her blood spraying with every attempt she made to speak. The sputtering became gurgling when the blood started flowing more freely. Crimson moved past pretty pink lips and down pale cheeks before coming to a rest on soft golden strands.

Her eyes were wild as she looked at Anna. Her shock subsiding as she unsuccessfully attempted to buck the older woman off of her. Anna watched from her position above the girl as Natalie struggled to breath, slowly drowning in her own blood. It took longer than she had anticipated for the girl to finally go limp beneath her, the knife still protruding prettily from her throat.

The blood pooled around the cooling body. Seeping into the mattress. It was beautiful, it was everything she had hoped it would be. Anna didn’t just feel alive, she felt more. Natalie’s eyes had remained open even as she took her last breath, the eyes that had reminded Anna so much of Oksana. 

With some effort, she manages to successfully dislodge the knife. Anna then uses it to carve free her favourite parts of Natalie. Slicing the eyes from their home is a simple task. The sharp blade penetrates the eye sockets with little more effort than the flick of her wrist. Once severed she plunges her fingers into the warm cavities, pulling loose her prize. 

The glazed eyes would make a fine addition to her memento box.

* * *


End file.
